Greener Pastures
by Rhovanion
Summary: UPDATED :: "How can you watch the ones you love being mentally and physically torn to shreds in the name of false honour without catching a glimpse of that abyss yourself?" :: AU set in World War I :: TAITO, KENKERU
1. Devils in Masks

Author's Note ~ Hello! ^_^ Thanks for taking the time to look in here... This is an Alternate Universe story, set during World War I, and it's TAITO (surprise, surprise) and KENKERU (something new for me...). Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.  
  
Warnings: Aside from the SLASH, this is bound to get fluffy and WAFFy at points. And probably some gruesome war scenes. I'll put clearer warnings up in each chapter.  
  
Disclaimer: Would I really be sending letters pleading for more canon slash to Toei and Co. if I already owned all this? The phrase 'fat chance' springs to mind.  
  
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A reviewer wrote: "The only thing that irks me a little is that unless I've forgotten an awfully lot since my history classes, Japan's part during the war was very little significant (at least at the European continent), so if you intended for them to be American/Brittish soldiers, it would have been an idea to have used the dub names instead."  
  
You know, I had the hardest time with this issue. Japan wasn't actually involved in WWI, so your memory is still quite intact! I actually addressed this in my original author's notes, but they got lost in the loophole of my desktop... So, to clarify, this is an AU fic, which means that Taichi et al aren't necessarily Japanese. In this case, they're on the side of the Allies (that is, Britain, France, the US and some minor others), bar a few notable exceptions (but no foreshadowing here! ~_^). And besides, I love the original names so much, I couldn't bear having to write 'Izzy', 'Davis' and 'TK' everywhere. Apologies if this is a problem, but I'm not going to change anything.  
  
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Dedicated to Tita Taishi, who asked for it ^_^  
  
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It is 1917, three years after the outbreak of World War 1, a human atrocity that would claim the lives of over 35 million young men; wiping out an entire generation of talent and potential. In the trenches around the war-torn city of Nancy, on the German border, men live in sub-human conditions; ravaged by hunger, disease and the sporadic bouts of gunfire that are exchanged between the ruthless Central Powers' troops and the Allied Forces. Each day is a struggle to maintain morale. Each hour, the fear of seeing your comrades fall and each moment, the desperate fight to ward off insanity, rage and trench fever. The millions of casualties are all but statistics now. Faceless, nameless ghosts of a cruel era trying to warn us of the power of our own hateful vengeance.  
  
But it is said that, when the spirit is pushed to the furthest boundaries of endurance, only then does its true light shine. And amidst these unforgiving circumstances, in the blood- drenched, hopeless Spring of 1917, two boys are thrown together through chance. Against more than insurmountable odds, they discover values that most do not: courage, trust, faith, strength. Sacrifice. And love.  
  
These are the faces of the Great War. This is their story.  
  
+++  
  
"Captain Taichi Yagami."  
  
He liked the sound of that. Authoritative, almost noble - if he could be so bold as to assume it. His friends couldn't scoff at that! Holding his head proudly, Taichi let his eyes slip to the silver double-stripe on his shoulder. Oh yes, it sounded good.  
  
"Captain, eh?"  
  
The man who addressed him was the officer in charge of assigning new recruits to the Front: a portly, aged fellow who seemed almost to be drowning amidst the papers bedecking his expansive working table. He rummaged around through what looked, to Taichi's inexperience, a mass of utterly disorganized and chaotic notes. Mesmerized by the rustling, shifting papers, he snapped back to attention at the gruff throat-clearing. Taichi eyed the man mildly, sheepish at his attention lapse.  
  
"General wants you assigned to the western front," the officer informed, pulling a typewriter from underneath the stack. Taichi almost laughed at the magic trick-like action. "Captain Garren's troops are stationed to the south-west of Nancy." The man sighed as he glanced at the paper in his hand. "Poor boy. Barely out of school, and trench fever got him in under three weeks. But I guess he's luckier than some," he confided.  
  
"Luckier, sir?" Taichi asked. He, himself just out of an army college, could imagine no greater humiliation than being pulled out of the fighting by some obscure mental disease. He observed the man threading the sheet into his typing machine.  
  
"Yes, luckier, boy! Now, name?"  
  
"Taichi Yagami."  
  
"Rank?" Then, in the next breath, he answered the query himself. "Yes, captain, I know." There seemed an almost dejected tone in his voice. "Age?"  
  
"Nineteen."  
  
Another sigh, then, "Education?"  
  
"Two years at Oakhurst Military College."  
  
"Can you speak French?"  
  
Taichi narrowed an eye speculatively. "A bit."  
  
"German?"  
  
"No!"  
  
Seemingly satisfied with the answers, the paper was handed to him. Taichi scanned it over, noting the details of when and where he would be stationed. Somewhere in the south of France, that sounded nice. He nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Then, turning to the man, he saluted crisply. This was going to be some adventure!  
  
+++  
  
Not for the first time, Taichi was glad of his station as a soldier in the army. He had considered, under considerable pressure from his parents, the path of military doctor or something equally tame, but his was a spirit not easily subjugated and the prospect of countless hours spent studying did not appeal to his offensive nature. Taichi was a fighter, through and through. And now, rattling along the tertiary roads of the French midlands in a jeep that was both too crowded and had a jarring suspension, he was glad at the fact that he need make this trip only twice.  
  
Maybe only once, his cynical conscience reminded.  
  
Taichi was no coward, nor was he averse to sacrificing his life in performing his patriotic duty. It was one of the risks, pure and simple. One had to learn to live with it, overriding the natural human instinct of flight versus fighting. Training had helped in that respect, and he felt that his two years at college had not been badly spent.  
  
All that time, attending classes and mock-up battles, his mind had been elsewhere: amongst the enemy ranks, flying into combat with nary a chance of survival or heading off, as he was now, to the glorious trenches where men persevered and maintained the country's beliefs and freedoms. It had been his dream. Sitting lectures, the time seemed to be slipping away almost imperceptibly: every day a day less to prove himself on the field. Often, there had been talk of a cessation to the war, of the imminent sweep of the allies to drive off the Central Powers and, just as often, the words had evaporated into abstract meaninglessness. And now, finally, he was where he wanted to be.  
  
Strangely, he had not foreseen the irritable niggling in the base of his stomach, nor the slightly euphoric lightheadedness. He had expected a constant rush of adrenaline: not the mellowness that he was experiencing. All this he pushed aside, buoyed by his eager expectance of arrival. They had been driving for the better part of three hours; from the Poitiers airbase down to Nancy. Luckily, his was one of the shorter commutes. Some, he had been told, would arrive only late morning the following day. Taichi did not envy them the harrowing trip. He knew that his drive was almost at an end when he noticed, far on the horizon, the hazy smoky pollution associated with the trenches. He leant forward eagerly in his seat.  
  
"That's it, isn't it?" he asked breathlessly, addressing nobody in particular.  
  
The driver nodded. "They say it's one of the worst," he warned, incorrectly attesting Taichi's breathlessness to worry.  
  
"Yes! Imagine, only a stone's throw away from the black land!"  
  
"Kid, you have any idea what goes on there?"  
  
Taichi did not shift his gaze from the gruesome view. "Sure. Fighting, bravery, honour."  
  
"Slaughter," the driver interjected. "Hunger, death and disease."  
  
Taichi did not respond. He had heard many prior stories of hellish conditions on the front from those that he dubbed the Doomsayers but he reserved his judgment to such a time as when he had personal experience. And he was to have plenty of that.  
  
+++  
  
Taichi found himself standing alone, with only his kitbag at his feet, in the midst of a drear and muddy landscape. No trees, not even a shrub was to be seen, for all that it was spring, and the silence seemed to hang like a stuffy blanket. Taichi had expected noise: the industrious chatter of voices, machinery working, the scattering of gunshots; but its complete absence sent his expectations off-kilter. He started to feel the vague premonition that perhaps he was out of place. And topping all this was the fact that he wasn't exactly sure just what was expected of him. Taichi began fidgeting.  
  
"Well, you put your foot in, Yagami. And, sure as hell, there's no getting out of the water now!" he said to the bleak silence. He hadn't expected a response.  
  
"The mud, you should rather say!" a voice proclaimed, having the audacity to break him out of his reverie. Taichi was suddenly on full alert, his hand reaching for his revolver as he spun to face the speaker. He was a red-haired man, in truth more greying than red, of medium build. His expression, traced along the deeply etched lines of worry, was amused. "You're a jumpy one, alright. There's no need for that," he ordered, gesturing absently at Taichi's weapon. The boy found himself obeying automatically.  
  
"Captain Taichi Yagami, reporting for duty," he announced, slipping into formal stance and wondering at the cheesiness of the line. The older man laughed.  
  
"I should hope so, Yagami! You're late as it is, even considering the sloth of the mail carriers nowadays. Garren was down almost three weeks ago."  
  
Taichi shifted a bit. He didn't know what to say and settled for a hesitant, "Sorry?"  
  
"No, no matter." He reached out a hand. "But where are my manners? I'm field marshal Koushiro Izumi." Taichi returned the gesture.  
  
"A pleasure to meet you, sir."  
  
The man laughed again. "Please, around here I go just by Koushiro. You'll learn pretty quickly that formality is worth less than a bucket of straw during combat. Besides, we like to keep our regiment informal, at least amongst our top officers."  
  
"Very well." Taichi realized that he had yet to progress past purely perfunctory phrases and ventured, "Has there been much action in this past of the front lately?" That seemed a reliable, natural question to ask. Koushiro looked at him, askance.  
  
"No more than usual. Why, didn't you get any reports?" Taichi shrugged. "It doesn't matter, frankly. You'll pick it up as you go along. But come," Koushiro proclaimed, "We shouldn't be standing in the open like this. Get your bag and I'll show you to your quarters."  
  
Taichi found himself descending a slope of slippery and badly cut stairs into a rank, dark pit. The tunnel stretched for what seemed like eternity on either side: narrow and foreboding. Koushiro led him to the left, then turned left again down another tight corridor. This led to another trench, this one slightly wider and mostly uncovered. All along its walls were gaping black maws. Taichi's guide walked up to one of them.  
  
"Here you go: luxury suite number seven." Chagrin and irony was heavy in his voice. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back later to show you around." With that, he spun and disappeared down the perplexing maze of tunnels. Taichi, unable to follow and completely lost, was left with nothing to do but enter the unwelcoming room.  
  
The inside was almost pitch dark, echoing with the sounds of movement far away. From what he could make up in the dimness, Taichi distinguished a threadbare table and what looked like a candle. This he lit. Its faint ruddy light didn't do the room a world of favours. The walls were nothing more than steeply cut earth, the floor a mess of mud and mulch. In the far corner stood a bare bed that looked as though it could barely support its own weight and, aside from an empty bottle on the table, there was nothing else in the room.  
  
Taichi felt his dreams and expectations ebb out of him to form a puddle in the mire below. This surely was not his vision of glory and fame! It all seemed like some bad, cruel joke and he half expected Koushiro to appear, laugh it off, and take him away from this abysmal hole. But he didn't.  
  
Taichi placed his bag on the table and warily strode towards the bed, as though expecting it to baulk away from him. Cautiously, he lowered himself to it. It complained, but managed to hold his weight. With a sigh of somewhat relief, he laid himself on the hard wood and glared up at the ceiling. It, like every other wall, was simply hewn ground.  
  
Taichi lay there in complete silence for what felt like hours. The occasional resounding thump would startle him from his sordid daydreams, and once in a while a clod of dirt from the ceiling would dislodge and rain down with a hiss. Taichi felt as though time was bypassing him, leaving him alone and oblivious while it wended its way elsewhere.  
  
An eternity later, a shadow darkened his doorway and the cheery, gruff voice of Koushiro said, "All settled in, Taichi? Come along, I'll show you around and you can meet the troops." Taichi sprang and the chance of being able to leave his claustrophobic lodgings. Koushiro waited for him while Taichi straightened his dishevelled uniform, then passed the younger boy a sheet of paper. "Here, this should help: a map of our position. This here," he added, "Is the support trench. The one we were in before is the reserve trench, where most of our artillery and food is kept and where the soldiers lodge, for the most part. Now, come with me."  
  
Taichi obeyed and found himself walking through another thin connecting ditch. The next trench was somewhat more open and active than the previous two. There he had his first glimpse of life in the dugouts, ordinary men moving to and fro and paying him no heed. "This here is the cover trench," Koushiro explained. "We spend most of our time here, although it can get quite loud during artillery fire." He pointed down another narrow tunnel. "That way there is the firing trench: about as close as you can get to No-man's-land without getting your head blow off!" Koushiro laughed as though that had been a joke, but Taichi failed to see the humour of it.  
  
"No matter," the field marshal said. "Do you have any questions?"  
  
Taichi hesitated. He had a thousand queries running through his head, most of them along the lines of, 'Will I ever get out of here?' but he said nothing, simply shaking his head no. Koushiro clapped him on the back.  
  
"You're not much of a talker, are you? I know that things look bad now, he added in a confidential tone, "But soon you'll stop seeing the grime, and the gunshots won't keep you up at night. It's always hard for the young ones." The last comment was made softly, as though Koushiro was addressing himself. Then his melancholy mood slipped off like a greasy raindrop, and Taichi wondered if he would also acquire such a skill. They were about to continue their tour when a bubbly youth strode up to Koushiro, entirely ignoring Taichi, verily skipping as he went. Tufts of blonde hair stood out from under his undone helmet.  
  
"Sir," the boy said and stood to attention crisply. "We've had some good news from the line! Thirty-seventh of Toulouse broke through to the Enemy trenches and have a crowd of prisoners. They're being interrogated, the runner said, and so we're bound to get some news about the unusual soldier movements!" He delivered his message in a rush, beaming broadly at having the honour to enlighten his commander. Koushiro laughed accedingly and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. He turned to Taichi.  
  
"This, captain, is our young lieutenant Takeru Takaishi."  
  
The boy seemed only then to actually see Taichi. He smiled sheepishly and threw a salute in his direction. "Pardon my manners, sir, but it's so rarely that we get some good news that I couldn't help myself."  
  
Taichi, unsure of proper etiquette, extended a hand to Takeru and shook it. "Captain Taichi Yagami. Oh, and none of this 'sir' business. I'm hardly older than you are!"  
  
This seemed to go down well with Koushiro, who dismissed Takeru with a grateful nod. "Good boy, that one," he commented, "One of the brightest, and never shirks a task!"  
  
Taichi found Takeru's energy refreshing: it was like a small beacon, proving that not all was bad in the trenches. The Koushiro continued on the tour, pointing out various supply rooms and showing Taichi where to store his rifle so that it was easily accessible. "Your revolver stays on your hip at all times," he cautioned in one of his serious spates. "Even when you sleep. Remember, if anything goes wrong, at least you'll have a fighting chance." The bushy haired boy didn't like the way Koushiro said 'fighting chance', nor was he thrilled about the all too real possibility of an attack. Without commenting, he urged the older man to a safer topic: namely, the officers in his regiment.  
  
"Well," Koushiro began, gathering his knowledge, "There is little Iori Hida. Barrel of laughs, if he's in the mood. He isn't the best fighter, being just seventeen." Taichi raised an eyebrow in silent query. Boys weren't allowed on the line unless they were eighteen. "Oh, he just got some forged papers. He probably regrets it now, knowing what trench life is really like, but you have to admire the kid's guts. Jyou Kido is the field doctor," the marshal went on, "And he'll stitch you up before you can call for anaesthetic! Don't let him anywhere near you with that scalpel, if you aren't put under, because that one doesn't hesitate to do his job." He lifted up his arm, pulling up the sleeve to reveal a faint scar. "I got caught on some barbed wire out in the field. It was bleeding, but the cut was shallow. But that Jyou of ours, he got into a regular state and sowed me up in all of twelve seconds. You should have heard me cursing him," Koushiro went on with a chuckle.  
  
Taichi nodded, assimilating all of the information. "And him?" he asked, gesturing at a sullen black-haired youth. The boy hadn't shifted since Taichi had first seen him, nor had his hateful, depressing expression melted. There was a loaded shotgun in his lap, and an empty stare in his eyes. Nobody paid him any heed.  
  
"Him, eh?" Koushiro shook his head sadly. "That is Ken Ichijouji. He's been here longer than any in this company. Three years, almost: he was one of the first to be sent out here. It was sheer skill - and some luck - that let him survive that long out here. If that isn't explanation enough for his manner, then I don't know what is. Paranoid, too. But who can blame him? He's seen more death and madness in those three years that I've seen in my entire life - in all of our lives combined! Excuse his dark silence. He's the best they have. But he never wanted to be promoted! He could have been a general now, sipping tea while we commoners rough it out here. But for some reason he stays, and it's the most tragic and romantic thing that I've ever seen."  
  
Taichi only half-listened. His eyes were drawn magnetically to the boy. Would he end up like that? Or, would he be killed off before he'd had the chance? Taichi couldn't decide which fate was worse, which he'd prefer. Death was one thing; being dead to happiness something different entirely.  
  
"Oh, but let's not dwell on him. He'll be put right once all of this is over. Ken just needs a girl with a soft touch to get him in order. Or a boy!" He added with a laugh, glancing askance at Taichi to see his reaction. The captain shrugged, his mind not on the words. "Let's go in, it's about time for our supper!"  
  
There was a secretive smile on Koushiro's lips as he led Taichi into the main dugout. Takeru was already there, stomping the mud from his boots. Taichi then met Iori and Jyou, taking his place at the table beside the young blonde, absorbing a handful of his radiant joy. At first, the conversation revolved around the recent spate of good news: perfunctory talk about the situation to the south. And then the food came.  
  
Taichi stared at the brown mass on his plate, wondering if he should expect it to wander off of its own accord. He saw the others eating with gusto. And although he was hungry, Taichi didn't think he'd be able to stomach that, whatever it was. He prodded it with a fork. It gurgled. Taichi lost the last smidgeon of his appetite. He had the brief, uncomfortable notion that he was undergoing some sort of initiation, and when he glanced up he noticed that everybody was looking at him.  
  
"Aren't you hungry?" Takeru asked, aghast.  
  
"I would be if this was edible," Taichi answered plaintively, envying the others' oblivion. He picked up one of the vegetables - well, it looked as though it had been a vegetable at some point in its life! - and shoved it into his mouth symbolically. He barely chewed it before swallowing. Koushiro burst out laughing.  
  
"First taste of soldiers' rations? Get used to it, Taichi. You aren't likely to get anything better out here." Then his voice grew secretive. "A shot of whisky usually helps it go down better!" He offered Taichi the alcohol and the captain took a swig. Warmth flowed down into his stomach, but it did little to increase the appeal of the food. He forced down another mouthful before he shoved the plate aside.  
  
"So, Taichi!" Iori said, reclining in his chair. "First day on the bloody front, hey? Not what it's made out to be!"  
  
Taichi smiled at the truth in his statement. "Guess if they told us what it's really like, most guys would sign up for medicine!" This got a laugh all round: cowards were infamous for that choice of studies, hoping that the war would be over before their four compulsory years were done. Jyou looked at him with mock sourness.  
  
"A lot of good it did me!"  
  
The conversation continued in a similar vein for a while, with jokes to lighten the quickly settling dusk. Ken didn't join them, and Taichi felt that it wasn't his place to mention it. At some later point, Takeru sprang abruptly to his feet. He grabbed a full plate from the kitchen alcove and trotted outside, mumbling an excuse. The trio's eyes followed him out, Koushiro with a wistful smile on his face. "That boy should have been called Sunshine! Looks like he's made it his personal mission to take care of our resident cynic."  
  
"Very good care," Iori intoned, lifting his eyebrows. "A little suspicious, if you ask me!"  
  
"None of that, Hida!" Koushiro admonished. "It's good for both of them." This statement put Taichi in mind of the red-haired man's previous comment about Ken's needing somebody to look out for him. "Besides, it's Takeru's watch now. We'd all better get some rest. Taichi, I'll put you in for the morning watch with myself, so that you can learn the ropes before standing to by yourself."  
  
Iori yawned, breaking the silence that followed this announcement. "I'm turning in," he announced.  
  
"Into what?" Jyou muttered, earning himself a swipe aimed at his head. The atmosphere shifted subtly after Iori's departure, and Taichi found himself relaxing in the presence of the elder men.  
  
"Now that we have a moment," Koushiro said pointedly, lowering his voice to draw the boy in. "Taichi, I must admit, morale isn't what it used to be anymore. We've had rumours about some strange patrol movements by the enemy, and we fear an attack at any moment." He brushed his hair back despondently. "We're sitting ducks, waiting for news and orders. You must forgive the men if their manner is clipped. As you can imagine, we've hardly slept, hardly had the chance to relax. Your arrival has given everyone a boost, so please, do not destroy our fragile hope."  
  
Taichi didn't like having that kind of a burden on his shoulders, and he said as much. He hardly felt the scion of encouragement that he had been made out to be.  
  
"It's hard, of course. And do not get disheartened. Just keep what I've said in mind, alright?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
"Off with you then, to bed, captain!" Koushiro ordered, dispelling the serious atmosphere. "You've a hard day ahead of you!"  
  
That night, Taichi lay on his uncomfortable bed and could not sleep. Every shadow caused his heart to leap, and the scatter of gunfire at some point left his nerves in a wreck. Had those been their guns? Or the enemy's? Whenever shallow sleep descended on him, he was plagued with nightmares of mud and death and cruel men laughing down at him.  
  
+++  
  
Dawn the next day was the single most beautiful, most anticipated event in Taichi's life. He leapt from the bed, feeling a whole range of muscles complain as he stretched. He felt oddly rejuvenated, afire with adrenaline, but feared that his fatigue would quickly overwhelm him. The mental stress was hanging over him like a thick, oily shadow. Perhaps when he had something to occupy his hands and thoughts, he'd feel better.  
  
His stomach rumbled importunately. Taichi sighed. He was realistic enough not to hope for a decent breakfast, but perhaps the food would seem more palpable in clear daylight. He doubted it. He gathered all of his equipment - he'd kept his uniform on - and pulled on his boots, mindful of the muddy ground. He was just slinging his rifle onto his back when Takeru barrelled in, startling Taichi.  
  
"Sorry," the boy said between his gasps for breath. His cheeks were pink from the cold. "It's time for your watch, Taichi! You must be our good luck charm; last night we didn't have any fire at all!" He beamed up adoringly at Taichi.  
  
"But I heard some shooting!"  
  
"Oh, that!" Takeru dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "That was far north. It can sound close down in the dugouts, but it isn't really. Are you ready? Watching with Koushiro is a privilege!" He continued his uninterrupted monologue as he followed Taichi all the way into the cover trench. Then, as quickly as he had appeared, he vanished into one of the gaping black maws of the trench. It took the captain only a moment to find Koushiro, who was already waiting for him with a spare helmet in hand. Taichi accepted it gratefully.  
  
Nothing of import happened during that stint. Koushiro was mainly silent, only speaking when he was asked direct question or giving curt instructions. In the thoughtful stillness, Taichi let his mind wander as he gazed across the churned No Man's Land. It looked so innocuous and barren. Beyond the barbed wire, there was nothing other than dull greyish earth; to his relieved disappointment, he was unable to see the enemy's trenches. Not a single shot was fired for those two hours, and afterwards, Koushiro himself was even surprised.  
  
When he was off-duty, there seemed to be too little to do. Taichi felt useless. He'd gone over the supply lists and was about to do it again to relieve his boredom when a sudden ruckus outside alerted his attention. He grabbed his revolver, but the voices seemed rather joyful than offensive. He peered out in surprise, only to see Takeru run past him, spraying mud, and launch himself at a man that Taichi hadn't seen before. They embraced warmly, laughing with unadulterated joy. The elder of the two slid off his helmet. The blonde hair confirmed Taichi's suspicions: they were brothers.  
  
He climbed the steps to make some sense of this visit and found himself intercepted by Koushiro, who seemed ever-present in his moments of confusion. "Taichi, there you are!" he proclaimed. "Come, you must meet Yamato!"  
  
Taichi found himself being led over to the boy, who turned just before they reached him. Taichi had to keep his jaw up consciously: this Yamato was gorgeous! He found it strange to be making that observation, but he couldn't deny it. His eyes roamed over the shapely features and glistening golden hair, a shade deeper that Takeru's. Belatedly, he remembered to stretch out his hand. The boy looked at him askance, masking a smile.  
  
"Captain Taichi Yagami," he forced out, flushing at the edge in his voice. What was his problem? He felt like a bumbling teenager!  
  
"Staff Sergeant Yamato Ishida," the boy answered. His voice, soft and breathy, held an unquestionable vein of authority. He looked barely twenty. "I'm your supply officer, soldier," he added with a twinge of humour. "I'm the one you complain to about the quality of the food and the laziness of your men."  
  
There was scattered laughter at his comment, everybody recalling Taichi's revulsion at the previous night's meal. Taichi felt stupid and had no idea how to respond, simply standing there in silence under the scrutiny of Yamato and the others. He felt heat rising in his cheeks. Luckily, his omniscient saviour Koushiro cleared his throat and bundled the pair inside, down into the main dugout. "Now, Taichi," he ordered, "Don't hold back on the demands! You only get what you ask for!"  
  
Being alone with Yamato was perhaps worse than being outside with the others. Taichi became painfully aware of his every movement as he fumbled for the supply list that he had so recently gone over. He found himself almost irked at the casual way in which the blonde glanced around before settling himself in a chair. He realized, then, that Yamato must know the place much better than he did. "So, Taichi, have you had a chance to go over the stock yet?" he asked, all business, producing a notebook and pencil from his pocket.  
  
"Yeah," Taichi answered, swiping a hand through his disorderly hair and trying to coax it into some semblance of order.  
  
"And?" Yamato stifled a laugh at Taichi's discomfiture.  
  
"Everything seems to be in order. We could use some trench mortars. And I wouldn't have anything against some edible food! The stuff here is gross! You have to knock it unconscious before you can eat it." Yamato laughed, appreciating the sentiment. Taichi felt himself relax exponentially. He found the courage to seat himself opposite the blonde and found that his knees had grown instable. He picked at the lint on his uniform, watching as Yamato made the appropriate markings in his book.  
  
"I'll see what I can do," he was saying, and Taichi was slammed back into reality. He thrust aside the pleasant, if rather fanciful, daydream that involved him, Yamato and a secluded beach and tuned back into the conversation. "Anything else I can get you?"  
  
"Huh?" Taichi asked, surprised by the innocuous question.  
  
"Anything," and here Yamato leaned forward conspiratorially, making the distracted Taichi feel faint. He narrowed his delicious eyes, "Specifically for you?"  
  
Taichi was completely and utterly floored. This impertinent blonde was teasing him! His mind instantly construed a thousand innuendos from the poignant words, and he sat in silence for a long while, reining them in with all of his willpower. When he realized that his silence had stretched to improbable length, he shot a glance at Yamato, who had cocked his head questioningly. There was a slight flush on his pale cheeks and Taichi saw - or imagined that he did - a soft smile ghost across his face. He could not find a sufficient number of brain cells that had not dissolved into a gooey mess to form words, so he simply shook his head.  
  
Yamato nodded understandingly, packed away his belongings and rose from the table. "That will be all, then." His eyes lingered on his for a curious moment, but then they were torn away and their occupant climbed the stairs up and out. Or rather shimmied up, Taichi thought with impudence. What was his problem, he asked himself scoldingly. Were his hormones running rampant again? With a desolate sigh, he let his head fall onto the table with a thump.  
  
A few minutes of composing himself later, Taichi leapt up the crude staircase taking three steps at a time. To his surprise, Yamato was still there, chatting amiably with Koushiro while Takeru looked on, his face almost cracking with the ear-to-ear smile. He kept his distance, observing as the older blonde produced some things from his satchel. One of them he offered to his younger brother, who squeaked joyfully and gave him an awkward hug. The second parcel he offered to Koushiro, its contents apparently needing some lengthy explanation, judging by the enthusiastic gesturing on both sides. The third also went to the field marshal, this time only warranting a secretive wink.  
  
Taichi, feeling like an intruder in a private debate, turned to make his way back to his hovel. He glanced back a moment later. Yamato was hugging Takeru in farewell, whispering into his ear. Then, just as Taichi was about to continue, the sapphire eyes were raised and drifted past his. The brunette felt as though he had been pierced by a thousand arrows. Their eyes locked for a splendid second.  
  
And then the illusion was destroyed as Yamato disentangled himself from his brother. With a final word of greeting, he turned smartly and made his determined way back into the further trenches. Taichi stood and stared after him long after Yamato had vanished.  
  
+++  
  
Like it? Hate it? Any feedback is welcome! ^_^ 


	2. Nowhere To Go Once You Reach The Top

Author's Notes: In response to some reviews, don't get too attached to any of the characters! Their fates have all been planned out and, as it is, not all of them end well. Ah well, dramatic irony and all that. ~_^  
  
And this chapter is much shorter than the previous, but not much really happens here before the next one. Enjoy! ^_^  
  
Disclaimers and the rest can be found with the first chapter.  
  
Historical note: I mention 'Minnies' on occasion in this narrative, and they probably warrant explanation. The name stemming from the German 'Minenwerfer' [lit. 'mine thrower'], they were grenade-type bombs that could be launched at great distance but with little accuracy. Isn't history fun? -_-  
  
+++  
  
Taichi experienced his first gunshot that day. He was just returning from throwing an eye over the weapon storage when a harmless-sounding popping noise erupted nearby. He made to ignore it - there had been several times when he had jumped at sounds the others dismissed - and continued down through to the covering trench. He had barely passed the entrance when a flying weight crashed into him, pulling him roughly down into the mud. Taichi gasped and would have struggled if Takeru's face and pale golden mop of hair hadn't come into view. The boy, ashen and devoid of any laughter, shushed him agitatedly and gestured for him to ready his pistol.  
  
Taichi scrambled to collect his thoughts. His weapon was in his hand in a flash, and he turned slightly so that he could grip it firmly. At his side, Takeru was refilling his magazine. So, Taichi gathered, this is how the real war starts! It seemed terribly ignominious, and he wasn't half as enthusiastic about the whole process as he had been just two days ago. His stomach, although empty, complained of cramps and he feared that he would retch on the spot. Vague panic took him: Taichi's steady grip on his weapon was wavering under an onrush of trembles, cold sweat trickled down his back, vision blurred. Every second that the silence extended itself became an eternity of torture. He glanced at Takeru by his side: the blonde had his eyes closed but his gun remained trained on the passageway before them.  
  
Then, just when Taichi thought it had become safe enough to breathe, there came a terrified yell somewhere to his left. A black thing hissed overhead.  
  
"Minnies!" Takeru yelped and threw his arms over his head. Taichi did not hesitate to imitate his action, and not a second too soon. There came a horrifying crash. The ground heaved violently beneath him, and a sudden hissing shower of sand and rubble fell all about them. He fought with his instinct to turn and flee. When the sound settled, he lay prone, forcing his unwilling eyes open. He could see nothing, and barely breathe: the air was filled with smoke and dust. To his immense relief, the boy alongside him stirred and coughed. A questing hand found his own, and Taichi felt Takeru pulling him up insistently.  
  
"Come on," he explained in a rush, "They never drop more than one Minnie at a time. The others might need our help!"  
  
Taichi's unfamiliarity with procedures allowed Takeru to take the initiative. Taichi unwillingly followed him into the firing trench. In there, he saw Koushiro, Ken, Iori and Jyou pressed flat against the outer wall and sprinted to join him. Takeru shifted his course slightly to land near the sullen black-haired boy.  
  
"You're a mess," Koushiro laughed mirthlessly by way of greeting. "Have you got your revolver?" Taichi held it up without speaking. The older man looked at him thoughtfully. "You're almost green, Yagami! Welcome to the war, I suppose!"  
  
"Thanks," Taichi croaked. He didn't feel up to eloquence. Instead, he settled for a simple, "What now?"  
  
"We wait." There was a sigh. "This is the bit that really gets to the men. Waiting - knowing that death might be around the next corner, shearing through the barbed wire. We wait and see if they do any more."  
  
"And then? Don't we fire back?"  
  
The elder man scoffed. "Oh sure, if you're up for a slaughter! You can't send men up to where you know there are a thousand guns trained on them. Patience, Taichi, we'll repay them in kind sooner or later."  
  
They sat in breathless silence for almost an hour, but no further attack came. Taichi almost wished that something would break the monotony of the expectant silence - a shot, a call, anything. He slowly felt a restless madness grow within him. His muscles clenched sporadically, demanding action. He had to suppress the cry that was building up in his chest forcibly. His back screamed with discomfort, as did his cramped legs. And whenever he glanced at the others, their placidity just exacerbated his situation: were they so unperturbed? So used to this kind of scenario? Taichi didn't want to cry, and he barely halted the flood of tears. This was not the war of tale and epic. There was nothing heroic about lying in mud up to your ankles, trembling with fear and anger, and simply waiting for the next inevitable attack. The disillusionment was the singular worst thing that Taichi had experienced in his entire life.  
  
His father had preached relentlessly about the glory of fighting for king and country. Whenever he had made trips home from the trenches, every four months or so, he had brimmed with stories of heroic exploits. Now, Taichi knew, his father had left out a few very choice details that made the experience an altogether grotesque one. The last time that he had seen the man, shortly before his graduation, Mr. Yagami had expounded the importance of Taichi's doing something that would make his name one worth speaking. And then, as if the product of some crude premonition, his father was announced dead, fallen in crossfire. Taichi had been left, suddenly responsible for his mother and sister and goaded to fulfil his father's last demand. It was an unstable position to be in, at best. He felt strangely cheated.  
  
Taichi was so deeply engrossed in his own world that he startled when Koushiro placed a hand on his shoulder. He leaned in, his comforting words only for Taichi's ears. "Sorry, kid. This is the reality, even if we wish it weren't. Now, pull yourself together, we're almost about to relax our guard and it wouldn't do for the others to see you in a state."  
  
Taichi quickly swiped a dusty hand across his face, smearing the grime that was already there. He felt disgustingly sticky and muddy and damp, and suddenly wished for the unsung pleasure that was a hot bath. But he was unlikely to get one in the foreseeable future, so he pushed fragile whimsy aside and collected his nerves, tying them up with sheer stubbornness.  
  
And, true to Koushiro's words, the other five were instantly on their feet at the sound of the 'all clear' whistle. They looked to Koushiro for guidance, but the older marshal was quick to call Taichi in on the action. "You're captain here, Yagami," he reminded. "It's best that you assume your responsibilities as soon as possible. You never know what could happen. Don't pull a face," he admonished severely, for Taichi had done just that. "I'm just being realistic, and I sure as hell don't want to leave you lot unprepared if something comes up." Taichi again looked as though he would voice a protest, startled by the vehemence in the man's voice, but Koushiro silenced him with a curt, "What do you propose now, captain?"  
  
The young soldier was suddenly hit by the revelation that Koushiro was actually being serious. But what to do? He tried to sort his befuddled mind into some kind of order, to little avail. If only he could dredge up some fragments of knowledge, gleaned from the stories he had so eagerly listened to in his youth. But they told only of impossibly courageous deeds in the direst of situations, not of the run of the mill daily procedures with which he was now faced.  
  
Priorities, he remembered suddenly from those lectures he had once vehemently cursed: he had to work by priorities. That one keyword gave him the impetus to begin, and he suppressed his inner upheaval for the moment.  
  
"Alright," he began, and hesitated, seeing the upturned faces looking at him expectantly. They were relying on him! It was a terrifying notion. "Alright, do we have any wounded?"  
  
Jyou piped up with an all-clear for the officers. "There are some minor cuts and bruises among the men, but that is to be expected and it isn't anything serious."  
  
"Good. Now, are we under any immediate threat?" Taichi asked, then briefly wondered if they were ever out of immediate danger. This time Koushiro spoke, verifying the message of the all-clear whistle and quickly explaining its purpose. Taichi nodded, but found that he wasn't absolutely convinced of the infallibility of the signal. To him, the others seemed far too complacent for his liking.  
  
And then he stopped again, not certain how to continue. The trenches themselves had been damaged, but was their repair more important than procuring - or ensuring - a supply of water and food? Or should he launch an offensive? Should he post a watch? Was he supposed to communicate information about the attack to headquarters? Was the attack even something out of the ordinary?  
  
"Excitable fellow," Iori muttered to nobody in particular. Taichi paused his internal debate and found that he had been glancing around frantically, fumbling with his hands like he did whenever he was nervous or his mind was otherwise occupied. He consciously stifled his movement, trying to appear that he had arrived at a decision rather than that he had been influenced by the candid comment.  
  
"I reckon that we're not in the clear yet, so I want to send a group up to keep an eye on No Man's Land until we've gotten our composure back. Better safe than sorry," he added in response to Koushiro's surprised expression. "Takeru, get ten soldiers together and set up a watch. And keep out of sight," he cautioned, even though it was unnecessary.  
  
The blonde boy nodded, but Taichi did not miss the glance that he aimed at Koushiro, seeking the older man's confirmation. Koushiro just shrugged. Takeru frowned slightly, then turned and went to carry out the unusual instructions.  
  
"Meanwhile," Taichi continued, shrugging off the undercurrents of uncertainty and disapproval, "The rest of us can get started on fixing the damage that mortar caused to our trenches."  
  
Taichi knew that they wouldn't be thrilled at the task, but the captain hadn't been expecting the loud, vehement protests that he received. Iori and Jyou raised a din, and a number of officers standing nearby leant their voices to the argument. Even Ken's sullen expression had changed to one of disapproval. Only Koushiro was silent, contemplating. When the others looked to him to put Taichi in his place, the older man simply shrugged. "An order is an order, after all," he commented casually, winking secretively at Taichi, who was feeling like a black sheep put on the spot. But he managed - and it was no mean feat - to remain adamant about his instructions.  
  
++  
  
Takeru most certainly had not been expecting such an order from Taichi. Didn't the young captain know that the last place anyone wanted to be just following an attack was on the front line? It seemed a soldiers' common sense; Taichi's hish esteem fell a few notches down the blonde's measure.  
  
He had a hard enough time finding ten willing - or, more accurately, ten not entirely opposed to the venture - to join him. They spread out in the watch dugout, fidgety and nervous to a man. And now Takeru was battling with his own inner confusion. He was never a particularly vehement stickler for protocol, but Taichi seemed to have crossed too many lines already: ordering impromptu stand to's and sending high-ranking officers to do a pit crew's work! They had never had this problem with Captain Garren. He had been well-schooled and knew the proper drills. Then again, Takeru thought ruefully, look what had happened to him. The young man had been struck down with trench fever: a sickness of the mind and body that rendered any man inapt to perform his duty, that sapped courage and reason.  
  
But for all his shortcomings, Takeru was already fond of Taichi. He sensed an air of wholesome honesty about him that seemed to pervade to others. Peering out over the mist gloom of No Man's Land, the blonde lieutenant knew that he wouldn't have braved the watch for just anyone. Captain Yagami had, a the very least, the right sort of character.  
  
For what seemed like a long while, nothing stirred in the grey, formless expanse. Takeru noted that the men were being careless, whispering loudly amongst themselves and making too much general noise. But then, that paltry worry faded into non-existence: a dark fat shadow whined overhead, tracing a trail of smoke. Takeru sat stunned, as he watched the bomb impact. Mortars! Why the hell were they firing mortars again? That was not supposed to happen...  
  
With a growing dread, Takeru made out the impact site, and that made his stomach twist worryingly. It seemed to have taken out most of the mess hall. That, he knew, was where Koushiro and the others would be - where he himself would have been if not for this crazy mission! He didn't dare contemplate the consequences. Takeru barely suppressed the lump in his throat.  
  
But then his attention was diverted yet again. Somebody was pulling on his sleeve, frantically gesturing towards the growing haze of No Man's Land. Takeru's eyes dilated. Something - somebody, he amended - was approaching.  
  
++  
  
The entire group trooped into the badly damaged support trench and set about the unsavoury task of scooping the earth into some sort of order. Taichi worked right alongside them, not wanting laziness to be added to the already lengthy list of things that the others could hold against him. He was amazed at how much havoc one single bomb could cause: much of that stretch of the trench's structure had been shattered, the arched ceilings had caved in. There was little that they could do to rebuild the fallen section, but the group worked tirelessly, if not happily, to try to mould some order out of the mess.  
  
For once, Taichi was distracted enough not to notice the passage of time. The work was so monotonous that his mind drifted off into its own world. He thought of better times, trying to stitch his depressed soul back together. It was only the sharp rattle of gunfire ages later that recalled him into the present.  
  
Everyone froze at once, then burst into action. A dozen handguns were pulled from a dozen holsters, and when the 'danger' whistle pierced the air, Taichi was amazed at the haste and precision with which everybody dove for cover. A low grumbling erupted nearby, coming from the vicinity of the cover trench, and the earth seemed to groan about them. Another cloud of debris sprang into the air.  
  
What was going on? Taichi though furiously. Surely Koushiro had said that there would be no imminent attack? And what had happened now? He swallowed hard when he realized the implications. The cover trench. If they hadn't been doing this menial work, every last one of them would have been in the cover trench!  
  
Even before the dust had settled, Taichi was up and running. He didn't quite know where he was hoping to get, but had suddenly been assailed by the need to find Takeru and ensure his safety. It was his doing, after all, that the boy was out in as dangerous a place as one could find, barring No Man's Land. He sprinted through the adjoining trenches, through the now distorted cover trench and to where he remembered that Takeru and his men were keeping watch in the firing trench. He dodged falling debris and had to hold his sleeve over his mouth to prevent inhaling the dust of the wreckage.  
  
For only a brief moment during that run did he stop to wonder what exactly had possessed him to leave the safety of the cover trench. Now that he came to think about it, this was madness! But it was far too late to turn back. The way was most probably impassable, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to dredge up enough courage to dare the sprint again.  
  
Through sheer luck, he managed to track Takeru down. The boy's pale face erupted into stunned shock when Taichi threw himself down alongside him. "What're you doing here?" he gasped. "I thought that Minnie had taken your heads off!"  
  
"No such luck," Taichi answered with a dry, distorted grin. He stretched down beside Takeru and trained his weapon on No Man's Land.  
  
"And how did you know?"  
  
"Know what?"  
  
Takeru looked affronted. "That they'd try to launch an attack on foot?" At the puzzled expression he received, the blonde continued with, "Fifteen of them, armed to the teeth, tried to sneak past us! We got them all," he added with wry satisfaction. "If you hadn't sent us up to keep watch, those who had escaped the bomb would have been hopelessly outnumbered! You're a hero!" And the boy beamed up at him, an expression of such utter adoration and trust that Taichi almost believed him. Wasn't this what he wanted? To be a hero?  
  
He shook his head to dislodge the notion: this was no time to grow an ego! "I didn't know," he admitted. "Koushiro told me to take charge and I did the best that I could."  
  
"But don't you understand: you saved all of our lives!" Takeru was adamant.  
  
Taichi did understand, at least to a degree. He had fulfilled his duty. Saving lives was what he was there for, nothing more and certainly nothing less was expected of him. He had been waiting for a feeling of pride and self-importance, but he hardly felt that he had done anything extraordinary. Just his duty.  
  
+++  
  
The evening meal that day was a curious affair, mostly owing to the fact that part of the hollowed mess hall had caved in. From beneath the rubble, one could distinguish the forever-lost framework of a bed, a surreal image. Even stranger was that Ken had joined them - still sullen - taking a seat in a far corner and reloading his various weaponry with ammunition. Taichi tried to ignore the stares as he entered on the scene, attempting to meld into the background and failing. Koushiro immediately hailed him and beckoned him over. Taichi neared the small group apprehensively. He felt as though he had been put on the spot again, or rather under a spotlight, where his every twitch would be seen and debated. It was an extremely disconcerting sensation.  
  
"So," Koushiro began with a hint of humour, "Word has it that you're our resident hero."  
  
Taichi didn't know how to respond, so he abstained. He lowered himself into a vacant chair and waited with trepidation for what would come next.  
  
"You have a rather 'cut and paste' method of working, but I daresay that it's refreshing, at least. Takeru here has told me all about it. About your brave dash through a cloud of impenetrable rubble, heedless of your own safety, to keep tabs on your troops. A touch embellished, I'll wager, but the facts seem right." Koushiro glanced over at the young blonde, who reddened slightly, then returned his gaze to Taichi. "You know what this means, correct?"  
  
"I haven't the faintest idea," Taichi said with a marginal bite of irritation. Nobody seemed to be making allowances for his ignorance and lack of experience. Was he being reprimanded or praised? "I just did what seemed appropriate in the situation. Just my job."  
  
The field marshal leaned back with a degree of paternal affection. "Well, my boy, it means that you've just qualified for a Military Cross."  
  
Silence descended. Taichi first imagined that he had misheard, then simply gaped as the realization hit him. "You're joking!" he accused. Could fulfilling his dream have been just that easy? Was he really a hero? And a medal to prove it? Koushiro had spelled it out in virtual black and white. "You- you're joking!" he repeated, incredulous. Takeru was beaming at him reverently, and even the usually stoic Jyou and cocky Iori seemed mildly congratulatory. Koushiro laughed.  
  
"Not at all. We've made the application on a general consensus, and there is little doubt that it will the turned down. The higher powers like morale to be up in the trenches." He smiled expansively, and handed Taichi a rather well-thumbed newspaper. The front cover had an image of a large hall with people, in all their finery, attending some or other banquet. In explanation, he said, "And not only that - you will most probably be invited to a ceremony in Nancy to receive it, which means a blissful weekend away from this mud hole." He gestured affectionately at the trench around them. "You've deserved it, Taichi; whether through skill or simply blind luck, you deserve it. You did, after all, save all of our necks!"  
  
That evening, Taichi hardly tasted the food as he choked it down, floating high on a cloud of elation. The atmosphere seemed light and jovial, permeating to the others and improving their moods. To everyone's surprise, Ken seated himself at the table and even partook occasionally in the conversation.  
  
Taichi, who had expected talk of secrets and plans, espionage and heroics, was surprised at the turn that the discussion took once the meal had been cleared away. The group seemed to find great joy in picking the most mundane topic to toss around.  
  
"Found a rat today," Koushiro was saying as though it was the most interesting thing in the world, his feet propped up on the rickety table and savouring his cigarette like a finely made Cuban cigar. "First of the spring, but I put a hole in its head and no mistake. Big one, too."  
  
"Hole or rat?" Jyou piped up. The pair seemed almost subconsciously to pick up on nuances in each others' words, and they chatted back and forth without shame, always a step ahead.  
  
"Both. And I'm sure that the former is more relevant. To the rat, at least."  
  
Takeru sighed with the weight of the long suffering. "Rats again, eh? And I was hoping the frost would keep them out another month! Not that it's ever stopped them before." His chance gaze fell on Taichi, and he read the confusion on the young captain's face. "You're in for a treat, Taichi. They're the proverbial cherry on top of the trench life ice-cream."  
  
Iori spread his hands apart to an improbable distance. "And the bastards get big! They get into everything, rats do; food, stores, you name it. And then one day you wake up with one running over your face."  
  
Taichi listened to their comments and tried to keep a dispassionate silence. Something of his revolt must have shown on his face, though, because the others broke into laughter. Takeru had a vaguely maniacal glint in his eyes when he said, "But it's brilliant revenge when you shoot them down. Best stress relief invented by man - really, you should try it."  
  
"No shortage of target practice." That was Koushiro again. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "And we always seem to get more meat served around this time. Very suspect." There was no doubt as to his innuendo, and Taichi felt his previously eaten supper doing an uncomfortable dance in his stomach.  
  
"Congratulations," he said sourly, "You've just entirely put me off trench food for ever."  
  
"You won't be missing anything," Ken piped up, and everybody was so shocked at his participation that there was a momentary, uncomfortable silence. Takeru quickly coughed to cover it up.  
  
"It's getting late," he said irrelevantly, because that much was more than obvious. "They're changing the watch about now, so we'd better head off to where we're going before it's lights out."  
  
That comment, innocent though it was, put Taichi inexplicably on edge. He had had the notion that everybody here knew much more than they willingly revealed, and he knew for a fact that more went on during the night hours than was spoken of in casual company. To the captain, it seemed that he was only in the trenches for show, whilst the real players of war went about their shady business. Not that he himself would know what to do when faced with intricate decisions that potentially risked thousands of lives. Nevertheless, he couldn't shake the feeling of inferiority.  
  
But then the conversation turned to speculation of America's joining the war effort, gleaned from various scattered news reports, and the mood became suddenly more jovial. All resolve to settle in for the night vanished, and as far as Taichi could measure, their talk stretched far into the morning hours. When they did finally retire for the night, warmed by Koushiro's stash of rum, Taichi felt hollow warmth in his belly from more than just the alcohol. It was the sensation of accomplishment. He had hardly imagined that he would fulfil his childhood ambition - his father's dream - and in all of two days in the trenches!  
  
He had, hadn't he? Taichi was somehow unconvinced. He'd done something for the greater good, a heroic deed that he would recount to the next batch of hopefuls. Then why did he feel so unfulfilled? Why was the pride shallow and fleeting? Why hadn't even a flicker of real passion returned to his glum soul?  
  
"Is this," he asked the ceiling, cynical, "As good as it gets?" 


	3. The Art of Living in a Bubble

Finally, we step out of Taichi's head for a while in this chapter, and into poor Ken's tortured psyche. He's by far my favourite 02 character, and I find favourite characters notoriously difficult to write. Hopefully I've done a decent job of it. Oh, and let me know how the pace of the plot is progressing: slow, fast or just right? Don't worry: there's plenty of intrigue coming up soon! One more thing: I lengthened the previous chapter a bit, so go have a look at it if you haven't seen it! ^_^  
  
Oh, and Yama makes an appearance. And actually does things. At last. 0_o  
  
+++  
  
After the hubbub of his first few eventful days, Taichi could hardly have imagined that trench life could ever be dull. But, invariably, it had its down times as well. For the next six days, not a single event of redeeming value broke the endless muddy haze of days. There were the morning and evening stand-to's, of course, but little other routine to break the continuous thread of sheer survival. Watches were set, the lines patrolled and boredom was staved off. It seemed a strange concept that one could feel bored in such a stressful and ever-watchful environment, but Taichi had no other description for his restless sense of ineptitude. After a night of sleep and having to stand to in the pouring rain, his heroic air had withered and huddled into a far corner. The consecutive days had only left him feeling emotionally drained and utterly useless.  
  
At that moment, Taichi Yagami was lying in the shallow dugout reserved for those watching No Man's Land. During the first hour of his vigil, he'd taken apart and reassembled his rifle twice out of the sheer necessity of keeping his hands occupied. Not a bird or insect stirred in the three dozen or so feet of barren land between him and the Enemy. It had seemed, after the first, botched attack that he had experienced, the Enemy had slunk back to lick their wounds. Not even a call or engine rumble broke the stillness. But Taichi didn't find the silence oppressive or tense either, just empty. Like the entire world had decided to avoid his nook of the planet.  
  
For the sheer heck of it, the young captain began going over provisions lists again. Storage was fine: they had food enough to keep them till autumn, and a relatively generous supply of spare uniforms and boots. Jyou had told him the medical facilities - although painfully crude, he couldn't help mentioning - were in order. They were a bit low on grenades, but otherwise artillery posed no problem.  
  
Taichi let his head fall to the earth with a clunk. It wasn't the fighting that was going to kill him - it was the monotony! Then he tried to remind himself that it wasn't all- bad. He'd met a group of eclectic individuals, and they had shared many a rousing debate - some would say argument - over the routine meals. He'd made a point of analysing their characters one watch a few nights ago, and even felt that he had gained some valuable insight.  
  
Jyou was a steady type, not one prone to panic attacks in the midst of action. He was solemn almost to a fault, and took his position as field doctor so seriously that Taichi could only marvel at his dedication. He was by far the most intellectual of the lot, and never reserved his judgment during discussions. Getting him to open up emotionally was like prying a tree from the ground with a toothpick, though: he was either intensely private or, and Taichi suspected the latter theory, was simply not aware of the sentiments that he experienced.  
  
Then there was Iori: the strangest of the lot. Strange, because Taichi could never quite get a lock on his personality. It was like trying to swat a drunken mosquito. He'd go from laid back and jovial to sarcastically sharp- witted, then degenerate to all out pouty before pretending that nothing had happened. It annoyed the captain because he didn't feel a rapport with the boy, which led to a cramped working relationship. Every once in a while, though, he'd catch Iori giving him sour, spiteful glances. That was even more puzzling. He hadn't done the boy a bad turn since he'd arrived, and couldn't understand the antipathy. And there was something else that didn't mesh: Iori's shady recruitment. Koushiro had told him that the boy was seventeen and that the matter wasn't spoken of, but Taichi's shrewd reasoning - or perhaps inexplicable paranoia - had smelled a large and dangerous rat in that statement. He was, unfortunately, powerless to do anything about his suspicions.  
  
On to Ken. Taichi had had a lot of difficulty thinking clearly about the raven-haired soldier. He could hardly imagine that the boy had survived years here in the trenches, and managed to keep his wits about him. He put on an impressive show of haughty gloom, but Taichi didn't buy it completely. He'd heard vague clues and snippets about Ken's past, and had basically pieced together the facts that he had stubbornly refused any kind of promotion, preferring to maintain his lonely, mournful watch over the trenches. Taichi just knew that there had to be some tragic story behind it all, but he couldn't just go and ask, could he? It didn't seem appropriate. Aside from his aloofness, Ken was notoriously shy: out of battle he startled when someone addressed him directly, and kept his answers to a bare minimum. During a fight however, it was an entirely different story. From the small amount of action that Taichi had seen, he surmised that Ken was the beacon of stability in the turmoil, and for good reason: he'd had more experience in his life than any teacher could cram into a textbook. He made Taichi feel humble and inadequate sometimes.  
  
Takeru was the yin to Ken's gloomy yang. He was sunshine on daisies. Taichi couldn't understand why, but the blonde boy was perpetually happy. Nothing could shake his almost violent resolve to remain cheerful, and he had a naivety in looking at the world that made Taichi want to keep him safe from its perils. It was like nothing could corrupt his cheer. Taichi didn't believe in that façade either, and it suddenly occurred to him that everyone seemed to be putting on a front. Was it for protection? He'd soon find out, he was sure. But Takeru made the entire war business seem like a moderate inconvenience, like discovering that the coffee you ordered turned out to be a latte instead of decaf.  
  
Then again, thinking of Takeru had got Taichi thinking of Yamato, and he's spent a long while on the cold and empty night going off on that pleasant tangent. He hadn't had enough material by far to analyse his personality, but he'd certainly seen enough to analyse his other traits- Taichi caught himself blushing and quelled the thought. So what if Yamato was right up there in the 'utterly stunning' department? He was probably a bastard and annoying and ungrateful. Taichi had tried to console himself with his favoured law of equals: for every good trait, there was an equal and opposite bad one. It hadn't helped one iota. Try as he might, he couldn't attribute a flaw to the blonde. But he'd find one, he swore, just to wrench his mind from the monopoly that Yamato held on it in moments like those. Taichi didn't even know him!  
  
But enough of that, he admonished himself sharply. He still had one to go: Koushiro. The redhead had been his first real friend in a world of hate, and seemed to garner more respect with every statement and action. He was kind and severe all at once, the perfect balance between discipline and understanding. The field marshal was his beacon of trust and his font of wisdom: if anybody had a concern or a question, they instantly addressed it to him. And Koushiro seemed to take it all in stride, sharing anecdotes and advice like sweets between eager children. They were his adoring fanclub.  
  
Taichi already saw him as a paternal figure, much more so than his own father. He felt like a hypocrite for thinking that, but Koushiro inspired an aura of trust, support and love that his own father had failed to do: with Koushiro, it felt like the real thing, for all that Taichi had barely known him a week. All that his father had managed to knock into him were some disjointed ideals of heroism before he had gone and gotten himself killed in some courageous incident. Taichi resented him for that. Everything that he had been taught to live up to by that man had dissolved within three days in the trenches! All the notions of honour and being valiant and all that had dripped from him with the perennial rain showers. He had had to revise his entire lexicon of true courage, and that had disillusioned him more than anything. He'd made it his mission to prove just how much braver he truly was.  
  
But Taichi had no stomach for gloomy ramblings just then. He thought back to Koushiro, and that put him in mind of a rather unsettling talk they had had just the day before.  
  
'It's uncanny how much they knew,' red-haired man had ranted during a lone moment with Taichi. 'Their timing was dead-on. And they almost got us, too. If it hadn't been for you, Yagami, we'd be up the creek without a canoe!'  
  
When Taichi had attempted to protest this, he had simply received a sour look.  
  
'Don't muck around, boy. It was your clear thinking and unusual strategy that managed to save us.'  
  
'I guess. But you said they knew too much: don't we also know the basics of their troop movements, patrols and so on? It isn't that unusual for them to know our habits, is it?'  
  
Koushiro had stood up in agitation. 'Don't be daft, Taichi. They anticipated us down to the minute. I spent some time working it out. We'd have been having our calming drink in the mess hall at that precise moment. And remind me again where they struck?'  
  
'The mess hall.' Taichi had gotten more nervous by the second. He didn't like where this was all leading.  
  
'Precisely. I hate to say it, to accuse one of the lads, but we have a rat in our midst. Somebody's not altogether on our side in this. Problem is, we just don't know who, how, why or when.' Koushiro sighed. 'Not even a suspect. But I trust this stays between you and me?'  
  
Taichi had only been able to nod, shocked by the idea now that it had been formed into words. He shivered, knowing that he had entrusted his life to someone who was determined not to guard it.  
  
Now he tried to run through a list of possibilities in his head. When it got down to it, everybody did something that could potentially incriminate them. He didn't even rule Koushiro out, although he fervorently wished that he could. The older man might after all be baiting him, hitting so close to the mark that he himself fell under the radar. Then there was Iori who was far too enigmatic, Ken who knew practically everything about them and more, Jyou who would not share a single thing about his life, and happy sunny Takeru who could just be putting a front on to feign innocence. And, of course, Yamato, who had access to the outside world so much more readily than the others.  
  
Taichi hated having his comfortable view of his closest living companions so grossly shadowed, so he tried not to think about it. Chances were, Koushiro's theory would be proved incorrect, and Taichi would have wasted his perfectly good nerves worrying over it. He tended to live a philosophy of crossing each bridge in turn and only when he got to it, so potentially needless stress was just that: needless. Taichi had a vague notion that he was lulling himself into a false sense of security, but he quashed it. This was the first reasonably warm day in what seemed like ages, and he sure as anything was not going to sully it with phantoms.  
  
The captain gazed dully over the drear landscape. He felt his life slowly ebbing away, wasted in tasks that did no justice to his potential. He was just reaching for his revolver a third time when there was a sudden flurry of darkness behind him, to the right. He was on immediate alert. Taichi had learnt to acquire this heightened state of awareness almost instantly: it was like something tweaking his nerves. He turned towards the sight, and just managed to catch a glimpse of what looked like a grey bird arrowing out of the dugout. That confused him. In an area that most animal life had shunned, why was this lone creature suddenly here?  
  
Then he got his answer: the sun momentarily glinted off something metallic on the bird's leg. A carrier pigeon? Why on earth would anybody here be in possession of one? Taichi had been told that most messages were sent either by semaphore or runner. For a moment, he could not explain the dreading heaviness in his stomach. Then it hit him. He'd just discovered their spy.  
  
++  
  
Captain Taichi Yagami had actually eased out of the narrow watchers' trench and taken a few loping strides towards the dugout before his reasoning caught up with his actions. What was he doing? He couldn't abandon his post! That was the first and most important rule that he had been taught: stay where you're put. And besides, the penalty for desertion was death by firing squad, and Taichi wasn't prepared to face such an ignoble end.  
  
He had wanted to head off the suspect and demand an explanation. But that was folly, his more sensible side mentioned. By the time he'd reach the probable spot, the traitor would be long gone, surely not daft enough to stay on the scene of the crime. Patience, he reasoned, and subtlety were the tools necessary for this. As Taichi turned back to his abandoned position, he was already mentally hatching a plot. By the time that he realised that he was planning to trip-wire most of the trench, the sheer absurdity of the whole thing struck him. He was working on shreds of doubt, not cold, plain evidence. He most certainly could not go around accusing people until he found the guilty party.  
  
Now, sitting in the cramped dugout, Taichi felt restless and antsy for an entirely different reason. He could hardly wait for the change of guard so that he could have a word with Koushiro. Then, he remembered, the older man would be out most of the day on trench patrol: an assignment to check and secure the trenches between them and their immediate neighbours, parts that fell under neither jurisdiction. Taichi groaned. For now, he was on his own.  
  
++  
  
'Ken?' The bleary eyes opened to him, hazy with pain. 'God, Ken, what happened?'  
  
Ken Ichijouji collapsed next to the figure, placing his hand on the clammy forehead, staring out into the gloom. Gunfire rattled overhead. 'Shh, don't talk now, we're not out of range yet.'  
  
'Just tell me, for Christ's sake!'  
  
Ken couldn't meet the pleading gaze. 'Land mine,' he whispered through a tightening throat. He tried to keep his eyes off his companion's lower body - or rather, its mangled remains. He suppressed nausea and despair.  
  
'I can't move.' The voice was plaintive, fading. 'God, Ken, I'm going to die! All of us are!'  
  
'No!' and this time Ken's reply was harsh. He bridled his fury just in time. 'Just lie still. I'll get us out of this.'  
  
'You don't understand! I can't move; can't feel anything, just pain.' There was a strangled sob, and the cough splattered blood over the already stained earth. 'Can't breathe!'  
  
Ken abandoned all pretence of watchfulness and scrambled to the man's side, gripping his face firmly. 'Stay with me! Just keep your eyes open!' Fear eddied through him like a maniacal tide, driving him. 'Don't fall asleep!'  
  
'So- tired...'  
  
'Please, please don't! Fight it. Stay awake,' he begged, feeling desperately selfish. 'You can't leave me! The medics will come, just hang in there a moment longer. I'll fetch them...'  
  
'No.' The tone had become suddenly resolute. 'Too late. Don't leave me.'  
  
'I won't. I won't, ever... Please...' But Ken no longer knew what he was pleading for. He cried now with heedless abandon. Clasping the hand in his to his chest, he sobbed, 'Try to hold on. Don't make me be alone. I need you!'  
  
A smile ghosted across the face, so much like his. 'You grow up - so quickly. Don't - need anyone...'  
  
Ken's expression contorted into unmasked sorrow. 'God, just stay awake!' he yelped in desperation. But the eyes were unfocusing rapidly below him.  
  
The man smiled blearily up, contorting his ravaged face. 'Ken,' he murmured, 'God speed.' Then the head fell back and his tense muscles slumped. A sense of peace descended on the pained visage.  
  
Ken was shaking, his eyes wide in disbelief. He lay there for hours beside the tattered body, waiting for the chance at a dash for safety. It was the single most horrifying time in his life. At some point in his vigil, he nudged the body, hopelessly hoping for a miracle. But Osamu stirred no more.  
  
++  
  
Ken sprang up in his bed and took a moment to settle his raging panic. Then he slumped forward, head cradled in his hands, taking deep, calming breaths and fighting the tears that welled insistently in his eyes. So, he surmised, he'd had the Osamu dream again. But why now, suddenly, after so many months of absence? He'd thought that those demons had been banished from him once and for all; but apparently they were back and with a vengeance.  
  
He sighed mournfully and shifted so that his back was against the wall. His brother's gruesome death had been the turning point in his existence, but why did he constantly have to relive it in full colour? Ken chewed absently on his lip and glared at the floor as he thought. There must have been some trigger for it.  
  
He was probably getting too close to others again. Last time that had happened, he had been haunted by Osamu nightly until he had broken off the contact. His brother had been right, naturally: Ken didn't need anyone. People only interfered, trying to help and thereby weakening his stalwart determination. They had even tried to snatch him from his eternal vigil under the pretence of promotion! And yet he had managed to remain, resisting while others came and went, heeding the calls of death or madness or glory. He could not have done that alone, though: he was certain that he had a guardian angel in Osamu.  
  
And yet, sometimes doubt did manage to set in. Was he really destined for a life alone, overachieving without recognition, braving perils without so much as a pat on the back? Although he found it near blasphemous to Osamu's memory, sometimes Ken let his mind wander the paths of a different life, one in which he wasn't simply guarding a Pandora's box. And it had been so easy to warm up to Takeru...  
  
How could it be wrong when their cautious friendship tempered his loneliness? Surely his brother would not be against an association with the perennially cheerful blonde. And yet, the dreams had recurred. Why, Ken thought despondently, in his hour of need, did he have no one to turn to?  
  
++  
  
After three hours of dangerously mind-numbing watch duty, Taichi was relieved by a despondent-looking Ken. He thought to ask whether something was wrong - or at least more wrong that usual - but quickly decided against it. The raven-haired boy made him inexplicably nervous, and Taichi didn't really want to be privy to his doubtlessly horrifying inner demons. He contented himself with a grateful nod. He had work to do.  
  
The problem of not exactly knowing which procedures to follow persisted. Taichi first stopped over at his room to deposit his helmet and rifle. For all that it was damp and dingy, he had begun to appreciate the muffled comfort of the nook. After a week's inhabitation, it didn't seem so bare anymore: the table held numerous charts and notes, which Taichi perused in his spare time, and he had made place for his equipment in the far corner. No home by any stretch of the imagination, but it would do.  
  
He rifled through the stack of maps and produced the rolled, elongated one that showed trench positions. After a moment's searching, Taichi found his current location and the one that he estimated that the bird had been launched from. He traced his intended path twice to commit it to memory, then let the ends of the scroll loose and watched as they rolled in on each other. His current plan was simply to throw an eye over the scene to see if he could discover anything of value to his cause. Later, he'd have a discreet word with Koushiro and seek his advice for further action.  
  
So pointed and jaunty was his stride that, after several puzzled looks, Taichi reverted to a more neutral pace. Perhaps it was the notion of having something beyond basic routine to occupy him that gave him so much buoyancy. His mere week in the trenches seemed more a year. This small fraction of independent activity acted like a balm for his downtrodden spirit, one that had already begun to count the days until their company would be relieved from the gruelling, draining front line duty. If only the reason for the mission hadn't been so dire, he might actually have enjoyed the day: the weather was fair enough for a French spring day, and Taichi had no duties until the evening's stand-to. Or so he thought.  
  
Taichi was so deeply involved in his ruminations that he must have lost all track of his surroundings. But a pointed throat clearing to one side derailed his meandering train of thought, and he became suddenly privy of the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. He glanced up and around, and his feet almost forgot to halt their progress when he saw who it was.  
  
Yamato was standing there, arms crossed, the picture of good- natured irritation. He was like a beacon of crisp, radiant serenity and looked starkly out of place in the drab, grey- brown trenches. Taichi tried to mask his discomposure, but feared that he had only increased his predicament when the blonde suppressed a chuckle.  
  
"Good morning, captain. Is something the matter?" he asked, laughter and not a trace of concern in his voice. It did nothing to ease Taichi's rising discomfort. He aimed a swipe at his unruly hair.  
  
"Nothing, nothing," he answered dismissively. "Why are you here?" When the words left his mouth, Taichi realised how presumptuous the question was. To cover that up, he added, "I wasn't expecting a visit."  
  
To his surprise, Yamato's expression darkened slightly. "You weren't told? And that's fundamental routine! I wonder what else they've missed," he muttered cryptically. Then his tone cleared. "But no matter: you're going to have to put up with me every Wednesday morning, just after ten. I trust you won't be late next time?" His smile was challenging.  
  
Taichi didn't know whether to feel admonished or righteously angry. To be safe, he settled for a quick apology. He didn't want to look any more bumbling and uncouth in Yamato's estimation.  
  
There was no more anger in the blonde's voice - or, at least, it was not directed at him. "Not your fault, Yagami. Somebody else will be sorry, though, for neglecting your training."  
  
Suddenly, it was at though somebody had struck as discordant note in Taichi, and the captain experienced a sense of hollow dread. Just who was this Yamato anyway, he wondered sharply, to speak like that of his superiors? There seemed to be another level entirely to the whole situation that he had suddenly stumbled upon. Why was this minute digression the cause of so much discord? He felt a stab of fear for the unknown, but quashed it instantly. Yamato was studying him expectantly, and Taichi nodded to the main dugout.  
  
"Well, we might as well go over those supply lists, then. Not like I haven't had ages to check them," he added wryly.  
  
In the cool, relative dark of the dugout, Taichi felt remarkably more at ease. Perhaps because now his every movement wouldn't be studied and, he feared, filed away for Yamato's future reference. On prompting, he quickly rattled off the things that he had memorised that needed replacing. It was not a long list, and the staff sergeant nodded agreeably at the demands. Then he pulled out a separate list and read over it.  
  
"We're having a bit of an overload with regard to the supply of artillery, so I'm afraid this lot might be a while in arriving. Where are the others?"  
  
"Away on trench patrol, mostly. Ken's up on watch, but I'm almost certain I saw Takeru around somewhere." He watched the blue eyes sparkle slightly at that mention. When Yamato looked up and happened to catch his intent observation, he laughed.  
  
"It's hard, you know," he began, "Having my little brother out here on the front where I can't watch over him and make sure he keeps out of trouble." His smile was wistful, and Taichi wondered at this sudden softening of manner of a boy who acted old beyond his years.  
  
To maintain this repartee, he asked, "So, how did you end up being assigned this stretch of the trench, then? Something to do with Takeru?"  
  
"Very shrewd of you, Yagami!" Yamato laughed. "Let's just say that it was a personal favour from the commander, and leave it at that."  
  
"Personal favour?" Taichi's curiosity was insatiable.  
  
He received a long, piercing look. "Now you're venturing into classified territory, captain. But -" and here he leaned forward conspiratorially, "And you didn't hear this from me - our esteemed field marshal has somebody who wants to keep a close eye on him."  
  
"Aha," Taichi enthused, although he couldn't quite read the meaning of the words. "And in return for that - "  
  
"I have the privilege of seeing my brother once a week." Yamato sighed as he settled back again, then seemed to gather his aloof front. It was as though the conversation had never happened. "Now, before it slips my mind, captain-"  
  
"Please," Taichi interrupted. "Can't we do away with all the formalities; 'Taichi' will do just fine."  
  
Yamato gave him a cool, undecipherable look. "Captain," he stressed, looking back down to his notes, "it's very important that these documents get to Koushiro as soon as possible." He magic'ed a file seemingly out of thin air. "Nobody must see them, of course. Understood?"  
  
The brunet nodded half-heartedly. "What are they?"  
  
"Yagami, 'nobody' means not even you. I'm sorry, but those are direct orders."  
  
Taichi had the feeling that, for all that he outranked everybody in his jurisdiction, there was a massive amount of things that happened behind his back that he had absolutely no control over. This only furthered his suspicions. He slumped back in his chair, feeling his face meld into a pout.  
  
Yamato had risen, and now regarded him sourly. "Don't act like a child, Yagami. Did you really think that a qualification from a secluded country school could give you the knowledge to run a war? The men here have real experience, and only put up with you junior cadet types because they have to. A piece of paper can't make you a good leader; not even a mediocre one. Now," and he hardly missed a beat of his tirade as he glared at Taichi's wide-eyed, aghast expression, "You can either sulk and throw your toys around, or you could sit quietly and learn from the others. And earn those stripes of yours." For a second, he seemed to want to say more, but a voice in the doorway broke through his anger.  
  
"'Mato?"  
  
The blonde's face lit with relief. "Takeru, there you are!" Taichi sat in shocked silence, forgotten, as the pair embraced. Yamato looked down at his brother with a tinge of suspicion. "You haven't been pulling any stunts, have you?"  
  
Takeru laughed, but his comically even grin deepened. "Me, no. But Taichi here, he's had quite the week!"  
  
The focus shifted sharply back to the captain, and Taichi wished that Takeru hadn't brought that topic up, especially not now after that surprisingly enlightening lecture from the older blonde.  
  
"Oh really?" Yamato asked, something sharp and unpleasant in his tone.  
  
"Yes!" Takeru erupted, oblivious to the tension. He quickly recounted the tale, embellishing greatly on Taichi's part, making the captain flush and look plaintively to the floor. To his credit, Yamato put on an admirable show of being impressed for the younger boy, but Taichi seemed to see through and beyond it. "And that's why Koushiro recommended him for a medal! Isn't that right, Taichi? After two days! Can you believe it?"  
  
Now, Yamato was masking a smirk that plainly showed that he did not in fact believe the fanciful story. Then he steered his dialogue with Takeru into another direction, and Taichi was entirely forgotten. He didn't know which was worse: full spotlight or not the barest recognition? Then, to add insult to injury, Takeru - instead of Taichi, who would have been the obvious choice - was given all of the paraphernalia that the others had asked for. That seemed to make his defeat in Yamato's books absolute. Ignored, the young captain slumped back down onto the hard wooden chair with a sigh, but this time the reason was different. The crux of the rant had finally struck him: Taichi was as good as expendable.  
  
++  
  
When Koushiro and his crew returned, Taichi dutifully sat through their report, although the subject matter held little interest for him. The mystery of the traitor still stood at the forefront of his thoughts - whenever, he amended, he wasn't mulling over the truth of Yamato's words. When finally the talk was over, the others were dismissed and Taichi remained alone with the field marshal for the first time.  
  
"We really should get some of that new tempered steel wire," the older man was saying with a contemplative look. "Give the Germans something proper to chew through!"  
  
"That's an idea," Taichi agreed hurriedly. "But I have some potential information about that spy of ours that I'm sure you'd like to hear." He waited expectantly, but Koushiro didn't seem the slightest bit interested.  
  
"I told them we shouldn't leave great big gaps of unwatched trench between us. Merleigh to the right hardly knew who we were! That's no good for relations, if you ask me." He laughed lightly at the irony. Taichi, frustrated, tried to force his issue.  
  
"Is all that really so important when there's a traitor in our midst?" he asked in exasperation, not bothering to doctor the frustration in his voice. For the first time, Koushiro stirred from his contemplation and looked at him squarely.  
  
"Can you give me a name, Taichi? Rank, number, details?" When the boy shook his head, he continued. "Then it's of no importance, not to me. The very real possibility of Germans flanking us is a proper threat. Not some could-be spy, who might not even exist, and who certainly has been of little detriment to us."  
  
"But-"  
  
"No, Yagami! War isn't a romantic affair full of intrigue and hidden agendas. War is getting up to your elbows in dirt to make sure that you survive the night. You'd better sort your priorities quickly, or else you'll just end up face down in the muck."  
  
Taichi half glared, half gaped at Koushiro. He'd gotten two severe, harsh lectures in barely a handful of hours! And the worst thing was that both of them had been poignant enough to strike a chord in him. Was this what was known as a life lesson? He hoped that they weren't all this hard to swallow. The field marshal, making a point of ignoring Taichi's inner turmoil, asked, "Wasn't our staff sergeant around today?"  
  
Taichi huffed. Just what he needed: another reminder of that disastrous visit. "Yes," he mumbled noncommittally. "Oh, and I'd forgotten - he left this for you." Taichi presented the sealed file, making certain that nobody else had seen it. Koushiro looked exponentially more relieved.  
  
"Forgot, did you? This is important, Taichi; you can't just go around misplacing things."  
  
"Sorry," he said, not sounding the least like he meant it.  
  
He received a sharp, calculating look. "What's the matter?"  
  
"Oh, just that everyone I see today had some absolutely vital lecture that they feel I need to hear. It's not doing any wonders for my self esteem, you know." He realised that his tone had been a few degrees more snappish than he had meant it so be. "You just did, for one, and Yamato said -"  
  
"Yamato, eh? I wouldn't worry about that! He's a different sort, that one." Koushiro seemed to think that this explained all. The look on Taichi's face told him otherwise, however, so he added, "He has a stressful job. That boy has seen more people come and go than most others, and it isn't always easy. Especially not for someone like him: he's become closed off, thinking with his head but not with his heart. Ever since..."  
  
When Koushiro did not continue, Taichi leaned forward, trying to mask his hunger for information. "Ever since what?"  
  
The older man sighed. He looked decidedly unwilling to continue. "You may as well know. Captain Garren - the one you were sent to replace - and Yamato were good friends, even before this whole war fracas started. Just imagine," he intoned, emotion heavy in his voice, "Imagine that your best friend starts losing his sanity right before your eyes. And you can't do a single thing to help. Can you imagine the guilt? The sorrow? Yamato was a sensitive kid, and it killed him inside. So it's no wonder that he feels resentful towards you; it's nothing personal. It's like you've been conscripted to fill the role that Garren once did. Be careful, Taichi. You could cause more hurt than you know."  
  
When Captain Taichi Yagami finally left to go sleep, that last talk weighed most heavily on his mind. How was he to have known about all that? It shouldn't even concern him. But this new dimension to the Yamato enigma fascinated him, and he needed to know more. He resolved to take action tomorrow, to go to the source.  
  
He'd have a talk with Takeru.  
  
+++ 


End file.
